


i've got a collar full of chemistry from your company

by loveontherocks



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Liam, Collars, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveontherocks/pseuds/loveontherocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Untying the ribbon, he lets it flutter to the ground along with the discarded packaging. He lifts the lid of the black box and, instantly, a blush rises to his cheeks and sets his face on fire. He stares at his gift because—</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It’s a collar, plain, but so, so pretty. It’s made up of black leather, a silver buckle, and Liam’s whole world is paused as he stares at it. Because Zayn’s sent this to him. Found it with him in mind, and—and he can’t quite figure out to do from here. </i>
</p><p>or; Zayn gifts Liam a collar and Liam puts it on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got a collar full of chemistry from your company

**Author's Note:**

> oh gosh. i've been working on this for like two months? it all started with a simple thought and here we are. i tried tagging as much as possible, but if any of you feel i should tag something else, please be sure to let me know.
> 
> i don't own anything, etc. 
> 
> title is from panic!'s "collar full". 
> 
> thanks to eve, ivy, and all of my gcs for listening to me whine about this fic, and thanks to avery, mubina, and steph for the wonderful beta work, but as always, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> thank you for reading!

Control.

More often than not, it could be said that Liam was controlling in his nature. Did he mean to be? Of course not, but it didn’t stop him from obsessively organizing certain aspects of his life so it reflected a demeanor as neat as he could manage.

However, the gifts are becoming increasingly racier as their relationship intensifies.

There’s a collection of toys Liam keeps in a black box underneath his bed, one that’s closed and shut with a combination lock. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, because he wasn’t, per se. It was just. Out there. A little more intense than the “normal”, vanilla sex life most people led.

Truthfully, he’s got a list of kinks a mile long and there’s really only one person that entertains him. He’s never really showed this side of himself to anyone other than this one person and he doesn’t quite know what that says about him. That he’s ridiculously private? Because he is. His closest friends don’t know about the kind of sex he’s into, and he’s never had the confidence to introduce it to a new partner in the bedroom. So.

There was only one option really, wasn’t there? People created solaces, in the form of websites, for shy people like him. The fact that he’d found anyone to share this secret fact with is still something that boggles his mind, considering the fact that—well.

 _He’s beautiful is the thing_ ; Liam has a hard time trying to believe there isn’t anyone that doesn’t want to live on their knees for someone like Zayn. _Zayn_. He radiates intellect, with a neatly defined speech that makes Liam dizzy, but he can’t help but adore the way Zayn speaks, with a quiet sort of laziness, his words stringing together, the lilt of his accent jumbling his words when he gets … excited. Liam’s seen what the videos do, sometimes has the opportunity to hear the way Zayn sounds, giving out orders that Liam’s body follows without much of a fight at all.

It’s more than just the sound of his voice, Liam knows. It’s dark, penetrating eyes and pouty lips and sharp cheeks and thick eyebrows. Pretty but solid. Sturdy. Liam’s well built, keeps himself in great shape, but he knows he doesn’t have the power Zayn does thrumming through his body. For all the weights Liam can lift, there isn’t a question to how easily he could break at Zayn’s hands. Zayn’s charming and witty and so smart and sexy and—it’s probably embarrassing how quickly Liam will drop to his knees for Zayn. How long he’ll stay there for him. He’s never touched the other man, but he doesn’t need to have Zayn’s hands on him to feel the hold Zayn has over him.

There’s a desperation inside of Liam, burning brutally, for the opportunity to have Zayn touch his body; the creases of his thighs, the jutting bones of his collar, the dimples in his back. He’d. He’d let Zayn do whatever he wanted, he thinks. He would. He knows he would.

To relinquish control, to surrender it completely; the thought is all consuming, filling him with the kind of anxiety that makes him think twice about it sometimes, when he’s alone at night and he’s thinking about how mad this all is. Most of the time, however, there’s just the raw need, the _necessity_ to give it all up, to let someone make each and every decision for him. Tell him what to touch, what to say, how to move and breathe and—

It’s mostly too much to think about, to think about giving away all the trust. Does Liam trust Zayn? Not implicitly, no. Not wholly and completely. No. Not yet, anyway. Which is alarming, because Liam knows there’s the opportunity for it. There’s a possibility that Zayn will be someone that he trusts more than anyone he’s ever known. 

 

* * *

 

It’s just after lunch. Liam doesn’t have to meet with any clients today and part of him relishes in that, the freedom to sit and scribble lyrics to a few songs, maybe go for a run, call up his mates to kick about a football. It’s freeing, the fact that he’s able to do what he’d like to.

With a cup of tea in hand, he makes his way into the modest living room of his apartment, just about to sit when there’s a hefty knock on his door. He’s not expecting anyone, no, but there’s a feeling, a small one, that blossoms right underneath his navel, sits warm, just this side of dormant. It could be anyone, he knows, but there’s a niggling thought that it’s been awhile since he’s received anything in the mail.

When he opens the door, the delivery man greets him with a smile, hands over a compact package, and has Liam sign the device and bids Liam to have a good day.

With a glance to the return address on the box, Liam knows the day will be … interesting. To say the least.

 

* * *

 

With shaking hands encasing the package, Liam sits down on his bed. Tea forgotten in the living room, Liam’s throat feels a little tight. He stares at the box for a moment, trying to collect himself; his hands take apart the tape and open the flaps to reveal another box inside, black and elegant, a silver ribbon folded into a bow right on top. He’s never experienced this kind of anxiety with his gifts before; there’s usually the purity of excitement that fully encompasses him, the quick flood of thoughts at how he could use these gifts to please Zayn, because ultimately, that’s what it’s about.

Untying the ribbon, he lets it flutter to the ground along with the discarded packaging. He lifts the lid of the black box and, instantly, a blush rises to his cheeks and sets his face on fire. He stares at his gift because—

 _Oh_.

It’s a collar, plain, but so, so pretty. It’s made up of black leather, a silver buckle, and Liam’s whole world is paused as he stares at it. Because Zayn’s sent this to him. Found it with him in mind, and—and he can’t quite figure out to do from here. Does he put it on? Send a cheeky photo to Zayn with the collar snug around his neck?

There’s a moment, just a few seconds, where doubt gathers at the back of his mind, questioning himself at the prospect of the idea of being owned this way.

Collars. They’re not on his list of likes, but Zayn must have seen that it wasn’t on his ‘Absolutely Not’ list either. And that. Well. Liam wonders how long Zayn’s thought about it, how long he’s had the idea, how long he’s been thinking of giving something like this to Liam … and if Liam would receive it well.

Falling back on his bed with a huffed breath, Liam looks blankly up at the ceiling of his bedroom, where the fan spins round and round and—

His brain is a muddled mess, and his cock takes interest in the idea that Zayn had gone out and found something just for Liam. Something of this caliber.

It’s—it’s more than Liam would have thought. He never contemplated a physical representation of being submissive in their sexual encounters. It’s said during sex, when Liam is begging to come and Zayn’s voice is telling Liam exactly who he belongs to, but something like this? Liam’s never even touched Zayn before, just chatting through the video feed, late night phone calls, amateur photographs and videos they send back and forth, but—well. It catapults his thoughts into the general direction of Liam being on his knees for Zayn, hands behind his back, willing for Zayn to do whatever he pleased, the collar stark against Liam’s flushed skin.

Sitting up, Liam pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing Zayn’s phone number. He sets the phone against his ear and uses his shoulder to keep it held, his fingers desperate to touch the softness of the leather while he listens to the rings.

“Liam,” a voice greets him easily after a few seconds, and Liam’s voice is choked in his throat. “Liam, babe?”

“I….” Liam sucks in a breath of air, his fingers still fiddling with the collar as Zayn hums.

“Use your words, baby. Do you like it?” Zayn asks, and his voice is gentle, curious, but there’s a current of electricity running through Liam, the unadulterated need to be sure that Zayn is pleased with him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Liam huffs finally. “I didn’t. I didn’t think I’d like something like this, Zayn,” he mumbles, breath shuddery when he inhales.

“If you don’t like it, Liam, you can say no. That’s never been an issue. You can send it back and we can move past it. Don’t say yes because you think I’ll—“

“I do like it, though,” Liam interrupts quickly, feeling a second wave of his blush adorning his cheeks, a heat flushing through his tummy to dwell at the bottom of his stomach. “I mean. I never… I never thought about something like this before. It’s…”

Zayn’s laugh is like a brush of fresh air. “I’m glad you like it, baby. I really am. I wanna see you wear it for me.”

“Right now?” Liam blurts out, because he wants that too, wants to put it around his neck and slip the buckle into place and bare his neck for Zayn, let him see the way it fits just right, the way accentuates the strain of his throat when he’s swallowing around the very tip of some silicone toy shoved into the black trunk hidden underneath his bed. He can feel his cock twitch just thinking about it, fattening up underneath the rough fabric of his jeans.

“No, baby, not right this second. Even though I would love nothing more than that, I was thinking maybe we could try meeting in person. I’d like to touch you while you’re wearing your newest gift,” Zayn says, and it’s almost like Liam can hear the smirk he’s surely wearing. And maybe it’s the fact that he’s hard in his jeans, or the desperation to finally see Zayn in person for the first time, but he doesn’t hesitate at all towards the idea.

“When?” he asks, repositioning the phone against his ear, still holding onto the leather collar with his other hand.

“Two weeks? Gives you a chance to warm up to the idea, to ask any questions you haven’t yet. None of this is remotely possible unless you feel safe. Completely safe. You understand that, Liam, right?”

“Yes,” Liam answers quietly. “I understand. And I do. I do feel safe. And I don’t want to wait two weeks though. It could be right now, and I’d do it.”

There’s the echo of a soft laugh and Liam feels warm. “Of course you would, Liam,” Zayn voice croons into his ear. “Because you’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Liam nods, and then responds with a meek, “Yes,” when he remembers Zayn can’t see him.

“Good, baby. This weekend, then? I’ll set everything up for us, and I’ll send you the details.”

Liam whimpers, too turned on by the thought of Zayn getting his hands on Liam’s skin, on his neck and his chest, his ass and his dick. It’s too much and he’s sitting there so, so hard.

“Words, Liam. Use your words.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s great,” Liam says, breathless. “Zayn, I’m so hard,” Liam whines into the phone.

“Really? You like the idea of being mine that much?”

Huffing out a breath, Liam doesn’t say anything; that feeling like his breath is caught in his throat increases tenfold as he drops the collar just off to the side of his hips, reaching his hand to lay his palm over where his cock is hard and hot and thick. 

“Liam, answer me,” Zayn’s voice commands, and Liam whimpers slightly, the way the order goes careening through his veins and there's just—an urge—to obey. To be good. He can't help it, not when his voice is rough and whiny and all he wants is to feel Zayn’s hands on his body.

“Yes,” Liam hisses through his teeth. “Want it, want to be yours so bad.”

There's a pause, a soft breath of silence where Liam waits for instruction. Nothing comes.

“Good,” Zayn says, voice calm, gentle, but there's the glowing tint of power that runs through the single syllable. Liam sucks in a breath.

“Can I touch myself?” Liam asks, voice soft, just this side of wrecked.

“Mhm, course you can, baby. I’d love to hear you get off, but I have to go. Meeting in a few minutes. No proper time to talk you through it, unfortunately.”

Liam frowns—he hates when Zayn does this, gets him riled up and then leaves him to deal with himself alone.

“Don't worry, babe. I'll get my hands on you soon enough. Get my cock down that pretty throat, huh?”

Liam shivers; it's more like a rattling of his bones, shaking through his limbs and causing him to grunt involuntarily. “Yes, please.”

“Good boy. I’ll call you later,” Zayn says, and Liam knows he must be smiling, from the way he sounds, a sort of happiness coiled in the lilt of his words. He doesn’t wait for a response, just hangs up and Liam feels helpless.

Helpless in that sort of way that’s got him touching the collar again, fingering the smooth surface of the leather, the cool metal of the silver buckle. He doesn’t hesitate to undo the button of his jeans and lower the zipper, pull himself out.

It’s—it’s never been like this before; there’s a kind of rush Liam gets talking to Zayn over the phone, where he can’t see him but knows he looks good, where he can only hear the control in Zayn’s voice, the gentle commands that have Liam trembling even while he’s all alone, only his own hands to get himself off. There’s desperation coursing through him, something that doesn’t allow for Liam to go searching for a vibrator or dildo, nothing to help him get off but the rough palm of his hand, the smacking noises of his hand on his dick, slick from the precome that steadily dribbles from the tip of his cock.

It’s just, he wants Zayn so bad, wants to be owned by him, and—that’s new, an enticing kind of new that spreads excitement through his limbs, sends his heart racing into cataclysm.

When he comes, it’s with a quiet whimper, toes curling and his back arching off the bed, hole clenching around nothing but the thought of Zayn’s cock inside of him, stroking deep. The collar is still in his left hand, fingers gripping the leather, holding it tight while he drips come all over his right hand, down onto his jeans. He lays there for a second, trying to gather his thoughts.

It’s just a week he has to wait. Just one. He can do that. He has more control than he thinks he does.

 

* * *

 

Most of the toys in the black box under his bed were gifts from Zayn. It started out innocently enough; small little vibrators, silicone dildos of various colors, plugs, and a set of anal beads that set Liam’s face on fire just looking at them (he hasn’t used them yet). But this, the collar, it was unlike anything he’d received, nothing like the other toys and presents that set their relationship in motion.

Filling out his profile online on a kinky website he stumbled upon during his late night research, he didn’t know what to write, didn’t know how to fill in the blanks other than the obvious. A username. His age. The size of his dick. His preference in bottoming or topping. Versatility seemed like the easiest option, because he wasn’t fussed most of the time, didn’t mind being on either side when the outcome, with a good partner, was all that mattered. And yet. A simple message, just a _hello_ , sort of changed everything. Not that Zayn was exclusively a top, but he spoke like he was in charge, like he knew what he wanted, and if Liam couldn’t fulfill that, he’d be onto the next willing man that would sink to their knees for Zayn.

Liam, well, he couldn’t handle thinking about someone else being this way for Zayn, someone else receiving his gifts in the mail, or filming themselves getting off, calling out Zayn’s name when they come. So, when Zayn asked for Liam to strip and jerk himself off into the camera of his computer, Liam did. And when Zayn asked for Liam to finger himself, Liam did. When Zayn asked for anything, Liam was so willing to please.

They had lists. Boundaries. Kinks they had in common. No—the collar wasn’t one of them; Zayn was _guessing_ that Liam would find some sort of enjoyment in wearing it, and fuck, he was right, wasn’t he? Liam was gagging for it, just waiting for the moment he could strap it around his neck, drop to his knees and let Zayn do whatever he wanted to his body.

So. Of course, logically, since Liam was always on the receiving end of the gift giving, the idea of having the collar—well. There’s only one other thing that would complement it well, isn’t there?

 

* * *

 

The building is conspicuous, with dark, tinted windows, a sign with the store’s name. The parking lot isn’t full, but he isn’t alone, he knows that. And it isn’t his first time walking into one of these stores. He knows what to expect, but still, uncomfortable with the fact he’s walking in with the black box and the collar inside it, sends his heart racing.

Opening the door, a bell dings above his head. A blonde man pokes his head around the side of the wall, eyeing Liam curiously. Liam feels like he knows, like it’s obvious, written all over his face that he’s looking for a goddamn leash.

 _Fuck_.

“ID?” the blonde man says, and Liam sighs. He seriously can’t look like he doesn’t pass for eighteen. He’s twenty-two, for fuck’s sake. Still, the blonde man looks at him, expectant, and Liam tucks the black box under his arm to reach into his back pocket for his wallet. He hands the man his driver’s license, and after a quick glance at it, the blonde man gives it back. Liam puts it away.

“Anything I can help with?” the man asks, his voice calm, almost sincerely nonchalant, Irish accent thick, and Liam wonders if the man’s practiced to get it that way, or if he really is that shameless, being surrounded by silicone dicks and suspect looking vibrators all day.

“Er,” Liam tries, but clears his throat before he attempts speaking again, his cheeks surely red. “Well. I’ve got this. Uh. I’ve got something and I need to get something that matches it,” Liam says.

The man stares at him, that same expectant look and Liam sighs, shuffling to open the box and pull the collar out. The man doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t say anything, except, “Like another collar, or a leash that clips into it.”

Liam’s breath rushes out of his lungs. “The second one.”

That’s when the man laughs. “Hey, mate. No need to be all tense about it. You like what you like, right?”

Liam can’t help but smile, nodding his head in some uncomfortable, jerky manner. He’s not sure what he likes anymore.

“Alright. Come with me. There’s a whole aisle for the bondage equipment and stuff. We’ll get you proper sorted.”

Following more out of obligation that actual desire, Liam feels like his face has caught fire as he walks behind the blonde man into an aisle with … well. It’s interesting, isn’t it? All this equipment to keep a person submissive; there’s a smile that teases Liam’s lips. He doesn’t _need_ any of this. And maybe it’ll make his heart race; maybe it’ll make his cock hard and his hole clench and his thighs tense and his toes curl, watching Zayn above him as he’s restrained to whatever surface Zayn’s strapped him to, but he doesn’t _need_ to be held down by the thick ropes and cuffs and all the physical representations of control. He’s okay to do it himself, be good for Zayn, be whatever Zayn wants him to be.

“Alright, so. You’re lookin’ for a leash, right? Like—well, black, yeah?”

Nodding, Liam scans the aisle again, feeling a shiver running down his spine. He turns his attention to where the blonde man is standing. There’s boxes lined up, simple lengths of leather and chains; Liam doesn’t see anything that stands out just yet, but he finds the bravery deep down in himself to reach out, shuffle boxes around, and inspect them closely, until he notices one, just as simple as the collar, a silver clasp on the end of a long strap of leather and, inappropriately, Liam’s cock twitches in his jeans.

“This one. I—um. I like this one,” Liam says, easily, voice cool and collected. At least, it’s what he tries for. The blonde man smiles next to him, like this is normal, like shopping for leashes that compliment a collar is _natural_.

“Reckon if you’re all set, I can check you out,” the blonde responds. Liam follows him to the register, the boxed leash heavy in his hand.

 

* * *

 

Waiting a week is agonizing, terrifying, anxiety ridden excitement.

There’s not much to do but carry on with his life. He wakes, eats breakfast and has tea, showers and dresses, meets with his clients. However, he knows he’s overworking himself, working out too hard, running too far for too long, lifting weights he’s too shaky to carry correctly. His body is aching, trembling most of the time. He comes home at night to his flat, makes dinner and watches TV, and calls Zayn.

 

* * *

 

Phone calls with Zayn always end with an orgasm after an exorbitant amount of teasing. There are soft, gentle pleas that leave Liam’s lips the same way his cock blurts fat drops of precome; his body responds so generously to Zayn’s words, to the tone of his voice, how gentle he comes off, until his voice becomes rough, like sandpaper of the sensitive skin of his thighs, burning like the simple calamity of a wildfire.

It’s the sweet whisper of Zayn’s voice that encompasses his lungs, squeezes out his breath as he strokes his own hand over himself, chasing the shattering vulnerability of an orgasm and the lovely way Liam imagines Zayn’s lips would curl around the words, “My sweet, good boy. Always so good for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Most nights, Liam falls asleep relatively easily.

Until the night before, of course, when he’s riddled with nerves and the thought that Zayn might not like him frazzles his brain and he’s lying awake for the rest of the night, because he can’t help but feel a little bit insecure, mind wandering to where his suitcase is neatly packed, where the collar lays right there at the bottom, hidden but. But not, really. 

 

* * *

 

There are explicit instructions for Liam to follow.

He takes a train into London, and then a cab ride to the hotel.

It’s an entire weekend; just himself and Zayn, Zayn’s body and his own body. He’s still trying to contemplate it, thinking about it, trying to make sense of it, how he’ll be sleeping in the same bed as someone he knows better sexually than he does romantically. He knows what he’s doing, though. At least, he thinks so.

Nightfall glitters overhead; the tall buildings and the explosive luminescence of the city lights drown out the stars but it’s quite alright. The pounding of his heart is louder than the rush of the city behind him, walking up the steps to a hotel he knows he can’t afford to stay in, pulling his suitcase along behind him as he makes his way to check in. He’s on time, just like he knew he’d be with his ridiculous, meticulous planning.

It’s like a drug, isn’t it? The excitement that courses through his veins, a euphoric feeling that makes his head spin as he clutches his room key in one hand, and the handle to his suitcase in the other and—

How do they begin? Does he get right to it? Can he kiss Zayn? Does he—

The elevator dings and Liam looks up, sees the bold ‘25’ lit up on the screen. Twenty-five floors up and his stomach is swooping and his lungs aren’t taking in enough air, and he’s sure he’s going to be stuck with this swaying, light headed feeling for the entire weekend, maybe even after it’s over, when he’s dazed, making his way home and into his own bed, reminiscing Zayn’s hands and the bruises they’ve left.

-

The nerves don’t leave him. Not as he travels down the long hallway, a door marking the entrance to a room every so often. It takes him a moment to collect himself; he’s been told to walk in; he knows Zayn is on the other side of that door, and—and really, he shouldn’t be this nervous after the things Zayn has seen of him, the length of his body, the lengths he’s willing to go through to be sure that Zayn is pleasured, satisfied. This—well. It’s just doing it in person, isn’t it? Getting to know the atoms and molecules that make up Zayn’s flesh and bone, the muscles and strength, the intense gaze of Zayn’s impossibly humongous eyes.

It’s just a presentation. They’ve already done the rehearsals.

 

* * *

 

The room is beautiful. Of course it is. Spacious for one, overlooking the London skyline, a million little lights that seem to be lit up just for Liam. It’s an expensive view, one that is wasted, considering he knows it isn’t out the window they’ll be looking. It’s enormous, too much space for just the two of them to share, but Liam’s eyes take in nearly each and every surface at obvious glance on which they could fuck. And just like that really, Liam’s nerves dissipate like smoke into air, leaving a hazy feeling inside of him that streams down his veins and—

Zayn.

Well, he’s more gorgeous in person, that’s for sure. Long, elegant body, dressed in, what is surely, a tailored suit, with the dress shirt open at his throat. He’s appealing, intriguing, impossibly beautiful, but there he stands, just leaning over the bannister of the balcony, a lit cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right hand, his left hand holding his phone up to his ear. He’s speaking fast, but Liam can’t hear him through the glass, just takes a moment to watch Zayn, the way his brow furrows, how he looks a bit furious. He brings the cigarette up to his mouth to take in a drag and Liam forgets where he is for a moment, his eyes steady on the stream of smoke that spills from Zayn’s mouth with fatigue.

It’s too much and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

So, he sucks in a breath, leaving his suitcase in the middle of the room, just off to the side of an elegant sofa, and makes his way toward the glass sliding doors, to open it.

“I’ve got to go, Liam’s here,” Zayn’s voice says, just as Liam steps outside. Zayn’s entire face changes, his eyebrows raise and color flushes in his face and there’s a hint of a smile playing his lips. He doesn’t seem to wait for a response before shoving his phone into the front pocket of his slacks; he turns properly, as if to take Liam in, and all the shyness returns when Zayn drags his eyes over the length of Liam’s entire body. Liam knows his cheeks are on proper fire, can feel the blush bleed down into his chest where he’s suddenly so, so hot. Liam offers a smile, though, a small curl of his lips to echo the grin Zayn wears.

“Hi,” Liam says, and he’s hit with the sudden feeling at how pathetic he feels, in front of Zayn whom he knows, but doesn’t really know at all.

“Liam, babe, don’t stand so far.”

There’s an influx of emotions, circulating Liam’s body and draining the blood from his brain to make him feel so very, very lightheaded; Zayn’s voice is thickly accented, his words quick and strung together, and even though they aren’t messing around, and Zayn’s voice had been so soft, Liam almost feels compelled to walk closer to Zayn, at least cross the narrow space of the balcony to reach Zayn where he stands.

‘Expensive’ is the word that comes to mind when he looks at Zayn. From the links in his cuffs to the shininess of his shoes, the well-fitting suit with the button up open to expose his collar, he just screams wealth and security. But a look to Zayn’s hands, there’s power there, from working hard, Liam knows, even underneath the silver of the rings that circle some of Zayn’s fingers. He doesn’t know very much about Zayn in this respect, doesn’t know what he does or where he works, or where he even lives for that matter, aside from the fact that his postal code resides somewhere in London. There’s still the obviousness of Zayn’s appearance, the way he looks tonight makes Liam hot.

Liam itches to run his fingers through Zayn’s jet black hair, but he reels himself back, composes himself to just stand in front of Zayn’s body, where Zayn inevitably hooks his index fingers into the belt loops of Liam’s jeans, their bodies pressing together and—

And Liam doesn’t do things like this, doesn’t meet up with near strangers for a random weekend that will be filled with sex he’s never had. His head is all jumbled up from the excitement, the thrill of it honestly, but there’s the anxiety that he won’t be good enough, that he won’t _satisfy_.

The memory of the leash in his suitcase makes a chill run up his spine.

“Better?” Liam asks, still smiling despite the inner turmoil, and he’s positive that his blush has, at the very least, diminished some.

Zayn hums, nodding. “I’ve waited a long time to get you this close. You’re a lot more fit than the screen of my computer gives you credit for,” he says, and Liam can say the same thing about Zayn, but he doesn’t, chooses to preen underneath the compliments instead.

Zayn raises a hand to trace a solitary finger over Liam’s heated cheek, stopping just over the center of Liam’s bottom lip. It’s escalating too fast, he didn’t think it would happen this quickly, but the urge rises inside of him, to just drop down onto his knees, look up at Zayn and give him whatever he wants, let him do whatever he pleases. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t think he ever will, but it stirs in his belly, a thick kind of heat that makes its way through the sinewy muscles of his body, makes him vibrate with it.

Zayn drops his hand back down to Liam’s hip.

“You’re … yeah. I—wow.” Liam shakes his head and looks away from Zayn, vision focused on the skyline that’s visible over Zayn’s shoulder. “I don’t really know what to say,” Liam confesses.

“You don’t have to say anything, Liam. Remember what we talked about? None of this is possible unless you feel safe. Do you feel safe?”

Liam nods, a quick jolt of his head because he _does_. He can’t explain it, and it probably sounds like a load of bullshit, but it’s there, embedded somewhere in the marrow of his bones that he’s safe with Zayn. It might be the fact that Zayn’s gorgeous, handsome in a way that has Liam’s head feeling fuzzy, dazed, or the hold of Zayn’s hands on his hips, just a sweet pressure Liam could pull away from if so chose to, or the way Zayn’s eyes glitter with gold, dotting the coffee brown of his irises with freckles of vibrant light. Whatever it is, Liam knows he can shed his fear, can just let himself stop overanalyzing the entire situation.

“Yeah,” Liam says with a huff of his breath. “I just—it’s not weird for you?”

“I feel like I know you,” Zayn says simply. “Granted, there are a few missing details, but it’s nothing we can’t go over during dinner, yeah?”

Shrugging, Liam nods. “Wait, but—“ Liam looks Zayn right in the eye, clearing his throat gently. “Do you feel safe?”

“Even though you look like you could take me in a fight,” Zayn says with a pretty grin that sends shocks sparking behind Liam’s navel, “I know I’m alright with you, Liam. Quit worrying so much, okay. This is meant to be fun. Exploratory. Can’t have fun if you’re stuck worrying about everything.” Zayn reaches up to cup the side of Liam’s neck, and instinctively, Liam tips his head back; he can feel the way Zayn’s thumb runs over the strong column of his throat. He doesn’t press down; Liam watches Zayn with careful eyes, doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, make them wet with spit. Liam wants to taste.

“Alright,” Liam acquiesces, because it’s the least to do, because he’s hungry and he could use a drink, because Zayn’s hands on him make his nerve endings feel alive and he knows this is dangerous, the beginnings of an addiction he didn’t know was quite possible with someone so new to him, but Zayn, with his pretty eyes and pink mouth and cheeks cut from glass—well, Liam’s certain it isn’t just him who has this issue. He can imagine all the people Zayn’s bedded, pretty women and handsome men dazed by Zayn, mesmerized in a way that makes everything a little easier to swallow.

“Join me for dinner, Liam,” Zayn says, and it sounds like a statement, but Liam can hear the questioning undertones in Zayn’s words. And when their eyes meet, Zayn’s irises burn so bright Liam has a hard time stopping himself from squirming in Zayn’s grasp.

“Yes. Yeah, okay.” Liam nods, slowly, and Zayn drops his hand from Liam’s throat and rests it back on Liam’s hip. It’s going to be a very, very long night.

 

* * *

 

Dinner with Zayn goes as smooth as it possibly could. There was no shortage of blushes from Liam or gentle laughter from Zayn. And really, Zayn was perfect, dreamy almost and Liam couldn’t get enough. From the simplicity of his love for art, to his family, to the company he built from the ground up with a little help from his father and his best friend—Zayn was just a well-rounded person, if not soft around the edges, radiating a cool factor Liam doesn’t think he could ever achieve.

With Zayn saying so much about the life Liam had no clue about, Liam doesn’t hesitate to offer a little bit about himself either, like his sisters and parents, the few dogs he’s had over the years, his own work. It’s easy to let the conversation flow when Zayn looks at him like whatever he’s saying is the most interesting thing in the world, eyes smoldering and lips touching the rim of the crystal clear glass of dark red wine.

Tipping a glass or two back himself, Liam’s excitement solidifies into something tangible. It must be obvious, considering the way Zayn doesn’t hesitate to flag down the server and ask for the bill.

 

* * *

 

Out on the balcony of the hotel room, Zayn has a cigarette. Part of Liam wonders if Zayn’s nervous, like he is, as he steps into the bedroom to get to the bathroom for a shower. Zayn’s hands were all over him as they walked back to the hotel room; Liam can still feel the weight of Zayn’s arm around his shoulder, the heat of the palm of Zayn’s hand against the small of his back, small touches all over Liam that leave him wanting more.

The shower is quick, rinsing off the day’s travels. Let his nerves circle the drain. 

Standing in front of the mirror, he keeps the towel around his waist, stares at his reflection. Should he just … he should shouldn’t he? Just walk out there, naked except for the white towel low around his hips. The implications would be obvious. He brushes his teeth and steps out.

Zayn’s sat on the edge of the bed still dressed impeccably, and his dark eyes find Liam’s almost immediately, Zayn’s tongue peeking out to swipe over his lips. He doesn’t say anything, stands from the bed and crosses over to Liam to take his hand.

It eases the tension Liam feels in his shoulders, that Zayn could be this gentle inside the bedroom. All the lights are on and Liam can see everything, the solid height of Zayn’s body, and Liam just wants his clothes to come off, so they’re matched in nakedness and Liam doesn’t feel so awkward about his decision to come out dressed in a towel.

“You really are fit, Liam,” Zayn says, tugging on Liam’s hand to lead him to the bed.

“Thank you,” Liam says with a kid of politeness that makes a blush heat the apples of his cheeks. “Um, before we start,” Liam murmurs, “I thought, um. Well, since you’ve given me so many gifts, I thought I could get one for you, too.”

The smile on Zayn’s face makes Liam’s stomach flutter, swoop and flip and perform all kinds of acrobatics. Liam huffs out a breathy laugh, meanders towards his suitcase to pull out two items he wants to use. The collar namely. And, well, the leash, too. Liam had taken it out of the packaging, tucked it into a gift box like Zayn had done for the collar. There’s even a bow tied around it, the same class of presentation. Liam tosses the collar onto the made bed; he doesn’t miss Zayn’s eyes focused on the leather.

“What’s this, then?” Zayn says, taking the gift when Liam offers it. Liam stands close to him, watches carefully for Zayn’s reaction. This wasn’t discussed; maybe Zayn won’t like it.

“Suppose you’ll have to open it, yeah?” Liam answers and Zayn laughs softly, and does open the box, pulling the bow apart with nimble fingers, rings reflecting the light in the room as Zayn pulls the lid from the box and—

“ _Liam_ ,” he murmurs, and there’s a shock that vibrates through Liam’s body, electrifying. “You—“

“I didn’t know what to do! I just, I got your gift, yeah? And then, I just… started thinking about it. A lot. And then. Well. I just thought you’d might like this, since they sort of go hand in hand, I guess and—“

And he didn’t expect their first kiss to be like this, with Zayn cutting off his speech with the softness of his mouth, quick to escalate to their tongues touching, tasting and—

Liam pulls back, a little out of breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “Good?”

“Good,” Zayn says, nodding, eyes intense and dark and running over Liam’s body before settling on Liam’s eyes. “Very good, Liam.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a certain degree of difficulty to putting the collar on himself; Zayn is watching with expressive eyes and his lips parted and Liam’s hands are shaking so, so badly he can’t clasp it.

“Zayn,” he whispers, “could you put it on for me?”

Nodding, Zayn stands between Liam’s legs, in front of where Liam sits on the bed. The expanse of Zayn’s chest is lovely, scattered with tattoos Liam would love to know the meaning to. Zayn’s fingers are quick, Liam tipping his head forward and allowing Zayn to pull leather through metal and secure the collar around Liam’s neck. It’s snug, an obvious weight that Liam feels against his larynx whenever he swallows or shifts or so much as breathes. Liam can hear the clinking of metal and he knows the leash has been attached as well, knows it’s clipped onto the back of the collar in the place where it belongs and—

It’s freeing. There’s a sense of freedom being in this anonymous bedroom with this man who exudes confidence and power and Liam is good here, ready to fall into the role of submission, allow himself to relinquish the conscious movements of his body and let Zayn do what he wants to him.

“You’re beautiful, you know that don’t you, Liam?” Zayn says, and he uses the pads of his fingers to lift Liam’s face, so Liam’s looking up at Zayn, with wide eyes. Zayn cups Liam’s cheek, runs the softness of his thumb over Liam’s bottom lip. Liam doesn’t say anything to Zayn, just watches him. “Are you ready?”

Liam nods; he’s been ready for ages he feels, and—

“ _Yes_ ,” Liam breathes out, feeling the restriction from the black leather collar around his neck.

“On your knees, love,” Zayn says as he steps away, dropping the end of the leash to the floor, and Liam does what’s asked of him, feeling the carpet rub against his knees as he kneels in the middle of the floor, hands behind his back with his fingers clasped against the small of his back.

The room goes dark aside from the two bedside lamps that are still lit.

The pounding in Liam’s chest only intensifies.

 

* * *

 

Swallowing thickly, the collar rubs against the skin of his throat, a constant reminder that he’s— _owned_.

The room doesn’t offer much light, but he doesn’t need it as Zayn steps close in front of him, holding the end of the leash in his hand; he’s already hard, the tip of his cock sticky with precome. He’s naked, a long body of golden skin and black ink in his flesh and he’s _breathtaking_. Liam doesn’t know how else to describe it as he scrapes his eyes over Zayn’s shoulders, his chest, the grooves in his stomach, the way his narrow hips are carved into a delightful V that has Liam’s mouth _watering_ ; his eyes follow the intense line of hair that leads from Zayn’s navel down and around the base of his cock. Liam wants to reach out and touch, wants to use his hands to feel that skin, to wrap around Zayn’s dick and tug him off until he’s coming on his face, God, he wants so much and he doesn’t know where to start.

There’s too much space between them, even more when Zayn steps back and sits right at the edge of the bed, legs spread so Liam can see the way Zayn’s cock lays across the top of his thigh, dripping like he can’t control it, like watching Liam wearing the collar is making him like that. Liam feels a sense of pride thrum through his body, vibrate through him at the knowledge that he can make Zayn feel like this, hard and leaking and wanting nothing more than Liam on his knees.

Zayn tugs the leash with his right hand, just a gentle demand that Liam comes forward and Liam can feel the collar tighten around his neck; it sends a shock straight down to his own cock, where it hangs between his thighs, red and hard and wet at the tip. He’s so desperate for a little bit of release, but it’s so easy to forget about himself, especially when Zayn commands, “Come, Liam,” and Liam obeys, drops down to his palms and, fuck, he _crawls_ over to Zayn, right up to him, so he’s right between Zayn’s spread legs, looking up at Zayn with wide eyes, desperation on his lips, the restriction of the collar around his throat too much, but it isn’t enough.

There’s a dangerous thought that none of this is going to be enough.

“What’s your color, love?” Zayn asks, and Liam sucks in a shallow breath, trying to fill his lungs with air, but it’s almost useless, like he’s been running for miles and his heart is thunder in his chest and—

“ _Green_ ,” Liam chokes out, feeling his head go just a little bit light, his eyes coming in and out of focus with how much he wants Zayn. He doesn’t mean to, but he sets his hands on Zayn’s thighs. They don’t tremble the way his own thighs do. _Control_. “Green, Daddy, please I’m so green.”

A smile teases Zayn’s lips, and Liam wishes like hell that he could tell what Zayn is thinking.

“Open up, Liam,” Zayn says, reaching out his auxiliary hand to set it against Liam’s cheek, and when Liam’s mouth drops open, Zayn runs the pad of his thumb over Liam’s tongue. “How badly do you want it, Liam? Can you tell me how badly you want my dick down your throat? ‘Til you can’t breathe? Can’t talk? Hmm?”

Liam’s breathing is pathetic, and his lungs feel like they’re on fire and Liam’s nodding to Zayn’s words, imagining it, the way he won’t be able to talk after Zayn’s done with him, taking away his breath, his voice—

“So bad, Daddy, please I just—“ Liam can’t continue, cuts himself off as he grips his fingers into the meat of Zayn’s thighs.

“Just what? Use your words, Liam. Be a good boy.”

Shaking, Liam looks down at Zayn’s cock, right in front of his face, cut and thick and so, so hard. “I wanna suck it please, can I? _Please_?”

Zayn leans back onto his elbows, his biceps straining against skin, stomach tense and cocks his head to the right. “You think you deserve it, Liam?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Liam hisses.

Desperation has never ridden him this hard before. He’s never been like this over the idea of sucking dick; not that he doesn’t love it, because he does, so much, but how is he supposed to convey that yes, he does deserve it, deserves to have Zayn stroking over his tongue, hitting the back of his throat until Liam’s relaxed enough to take him down, take him in, swallow around him until Zayn’s coming and telling Liam he’s a good boy.

Eyes focused on Zayn’s, Liam swallows, takes in a shuddery breath, mustering up enough will to plead one last time, dropping a soft, whispered, “ _Please_ ,” to echo off the walls of the bedroom.

God, fuck, Liam’s so hard he can’t think straight, a constant loop of _ZaynZaynZayn_ on his mind and he won’t be able to handle it if Zayn denies him.

“Please, what, Liam?” Zayn teases, his voice deep and dark and it churns at Liam’s stomach, like fluid dripped over charcoal, Zayn’s voice like a match to set it aflame.

“Please, Daddy,” Liam whines, “please, please.”

“Alright, baby,” Zayn says, a grin at his lips, like none of this affects him like it does Liam, and Liam’s mind is absolutely blown by that thought, at how much sexual control Zayn has over his body when Liam’s ready to weep with relief. “Lemme see what that mouth can do.”

Huffing out a sigh, Liam nods, doesn’t wait to get a hand around Zayn, the feeling of Zayn’s cock hot against his palm sending a shock down his spine, settling between his thighs where his balls hang heavy, his hole clenching around nothing. He keeps his eyes on Zayn above him, watching him curiously as Liam leans forward, dragging his tongue slowly along the strong line of Zayn’s dick, licking over the tip to lap up the precome that’s built there, concentrated and heady; Liam can’t help but let a moan slip from his throat as he suckles around the head, lets his eyes drop closed as he enjoys the feeling of taking Zayn into his mouth. He’s heavy against Liam’s tongue, thick enough to stretch his lips. Liam sucks, god, he does, using his tongue to keep the pressure against the underside; Zayn’s breathing has only become erratic, nothing noisy, not yet at least.

“You’re so good, baby. Can take me deeper, can’t you? Be a good boy and swallow me down?” Zayn says, voice calm, despite the ragged sigh when Liam pulls off, licks his lips so he can look up at Zayn, nod his head. Because he _can_. He can be Zayn’s good boy, take him down until he’s choking on it, until it’s too difficult to breath because his nose is smashed against Zayn’s pelvic bone, Zayn’s cock deep enough that when Liam opens his mouth wide and sticks his tongue out around Zayn, the tip of Liam tongue touches Zayn’s balls.

That’s exactly what Liam does, without a word of affirmation, feeling Zayn’s fingers card through his hair as Liam goes down as far as he can, until he does feel Zayn’s cock thick in his throat and his eyes are burning with tears and he can feel them over his cheeks, spit running down his chin and it’s so messy, but fuck it feels _good_ , so good to have Zayn like this, lying back, fingers tugging harshly as his hair so that Liam’s moaning vibrates around him. It—he can’t control it; he’s relinquished everything—he just wants Zayn so badly. 

Liam pulls off, huffing down deep breaths of air, eyes wet and his chin a mess, but he doesn’t stop, licking at Zayn’s cock, the thick of his balls, sucking marks into the creases of his thighs while stroking Zayn’s dick with his head. He’s getting off on listening to Zayn swear, drop little, encouragements for Liam to hear, saying things like, “Such a good boy for Daddy, aren’t you?”

Fuck, yes, he’s such a good boy, isn’t he? So good he goes down again, Zayn’s fingers tight in his hair.

“A proper slut for it, aren’t you? Could live on your knees, couldn’t you, babe? Just let me feed you my cock, huh?” Zayn grunts, tugging Liam’s hair hard enough that Liam follows the movement, let’s Zayn force him off of his dick, mouth open and huffing for breath, looking Zayn right in the eyes.

“ _Answer_ me, Liam. Use your words, I know I haven’t fucked them out of you yet,” Zayn commands, and Liam’s body is trembling, attempting to swallow so he can gather his thoughts, feeling the collar around his throat, a pleasant reminder that he belongs to Zayn.

“Yes, _yes_ , _yes_ ,” Liam mumbles, but it comes out a raspy half-whisper, eyelashes fluttering when Zayn’s hand drops the hold he has on Liam’s hair. His hand cups Liam’s cheek, thumb clearing the tears and then dropping lower, where the collar sits around Liam’s throat. Zayn finger it with marvel in his eyes, entire galaxies shining in his irises. Liam’s amazed, how Zayn can do that, be so rough and then handle him so gently. Liam leans into Zayn’s touch, and Zayn hums.

“You’re doing so well, love. Such a good, good boy for me, d’you know that?” Zayn murmurs, voice gentle, and Liam can barely hear it over the drumming of his heart beating in his ears.

“Jus’ wanna be good, so good,” Liam whispers, looking up at Zayn again, dropping his stance so he leans forward completely, his cheek pressed against Zayn’s thigh.

Zayn smiles at that, or maybe it’s something else, Liam isn’t sure, but he tugs on the leash, and Liam sits up straight, back on his haunches, until Zayn is standing again, moving out of Liam’s reach. Liam doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like it when there’s space between them, not when he has a limited amount of time to acquaint himself with Zayn’s body. But Zayn doesn’t go far, doesn’t go anywhere, really.

“Get on the bed, Liam.”

On shaky limbs, Liam complies, stands on wobbly legs to crawl onto the bed and lay on his stomach with his face against the pillows.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, and when it’s been too long, Liam chances a look over his shoulder and finds Zayn standing at the end of the bed, his eyes on Liam’s body, cock still hard, glistening with Liam’s spit and his own precome and the slight friction against Liam’s dick as he lays against the bed provides just a little bit of relief, but it isn’t enough, and he knows better than to chance a wrong move and upset Zayn.

The bed dips with Zayn’s weight and Liam holds back the whimper that threatens to drip from his mouth. Liam feels Zayn’s hands on the backs of his thighs, pushing them open and—there’s a feeling a bit like _exposed_ that creeps up his spine, paints a blush on his cheeks, but Zayn is careful with him, gentle in a way that coveys in the strong grips of his hands as he palms over the cheeks of Liam’s ass and up the expanse of his back. Liam tries not to squirm underneath all that attention, but it’s so difficult when he’s so hard and every time he closes his eyes all he can see is the image of Zayn’s body and the way Zayn looked at him with stars in his eyes when Liam was in front of him, down on his knees.

There’s a still moment in the room, just quiet and the sound of labored breathing and anticipation seeps from the hollows of Liam’s bones and into his bloodstream, just waiting for Zayn to move or do something, but he knows better than to open his mouth and start begging for it.

“You know, Liam. You’re quite lovely,” Zayn says, voice dripping sex like his dick is leaking precome, and Liam squirms underneath the palms of Zayn’s hands. “Think you’d look a lot lovelier with a—“

The crackling sound of Zayn’s hand on Liam’s ass rents the air, echoes in the stillness of the room, and Liam jumps at the feeling of the quick burn on his bottom, gripping the ends of the pillows with his hands, trying to contain the whimper so desperate to tear from his throat.

“Come on, baby, be a good boy and let Daddy hear you,” Zayn murmurs, lifting his hand again to smack it back down, and this time, Liam obeys, arching his back and letting out a god awful noise from somewhere deep where the heat stirs. His hips rock into the bed, grinding over the mattress for just a little bit of relief.

“Keep still,” Zayn’s voice commands from behind him; his hands soothes over Liam’s bottom, but he doesn’t relent, smacking down again and again, until there are tears in Liam’s eyes and his whimpering, throat raw from the reckless moans that carve away from his vocal chords. He’s limp on the bed, whining a little bit when Zayn’s hands drag up over Liam’s flesh, over the small of his back and the spread over his shoulder blades, caress his shoulders where his muscles flex. He tries his best to keep still, tries to be a good boy, but he just wants to come so badly. Just wants to.

“Daddy, please, please, I need—“

“What do you need, baby? Huh? Need my fingers? My cock? That what you want?” Zayn’s voice comes soft and gentle, much like the weight of his hands over Liam’s ass again, pushing his cheeks apart so he can touch the furl of Liam’s hole with the pad of his thumb. Liam’s hips jerk and his breath comes in shallow. Zayn leaves the bed all together after that.

“Wait—“ Liam cuts himself off, his voice wobbly and shaky and his breathing is erratic and irregular and he sounds nothing like himself, but he turns over anyway, watching Zayn’s figure cross the room. “Where are you going?”

Zayn stops and looks over at Liam, cocking his head to the side. “What’s it matter, Liam? You’re gonna get what you want anyway, aren’t you, baby?”

Liam sucks in a breath, tries not to whimper. When he swallows, the collar shifts against his throat; he can feel the sweat underneath it, wonders if his skin is read under the leather, if he’s got a mark from it.

“Why don’t you get on your knees,” Zayn suggests, looking over Liam’s naked body with eyes that can’t be described as anything but ravenous.  “Get your hands on the headboard. And don’t move, understand?”

Quickly, Liam does what he’s asked, gets up on his knees and rests his weight against the headboard, bows his head. Looking down, he sees the messy state his cock is in, red, so red, dripping sticky, heavy and twitching between his legs.

It’s a moment, just a little while, where Liam tries to get his breathing under control, tries to contain his swimming thoughts, until Zayn’s comes back. The room is empty of Zayn’s presence, and Liam feels like he can’t relax, feels like his skin is too tight without Zayn here, right behind him, touching him and teasing him and making his skin burn with the kind of want that settles deep into the marrow of his bones.

There’s a dip in the bed, and Liam knows Zayn is coming up behind him, can feel it when Zayn gets closer, presses the line of his body against Liam’s back. Liam sucks in a shuddery breath; his lungs burn.

“What’s your color, baby?” Zayn murmurs, the heat of his lips against Liam’s bare shoulders and the warmth spreads throughout his body.

“Green,” Liam answers automatically, doesn’t even have to think about it, because he’s good right now, with the knowledge that Zayn’s fingers are climbing up the sides of his waist, dancing delicately along Liam’s fevered skin.

“Good,” Zayn says, and he doesn’t move, not really, but there’s a moment where he shuffles behind Liam, kneels between Liam’s spread legs. Liam wishes, with all his racing heart, that he had the privilege of seeing Zayn’s face during this, wishes he could watch the way Zayn will come apart as he destroys Liam.

Zayn’s hands, while gentle, are merciless as they spread over Liam's body, over his chest and his stomach, his back and over the downy hair of his thighs, the soft swell of his ass as Liam leans forward, grips the headboard with his fingers, trying to contain himself even though all he wants to do is release a wild stream of moans because that's exactly how Zayn makes Liam feel. On edge, like at any moment, Liam can tip over and explode into an array of emotions he's never felt before, the taste of ecstasy embedded into the ridges of his tongue.

There's the snapping sound of the lube being opened; Zayn's fingers are cool when they touch Liam between his cheeks, just rubbing over the tightness of his hole. Liam's hips jerk forward, not because he doesn't want it, but because he wants it too much; his cock still drips and Liam is dizzy from it, like he's over sensitive to Zayn's hands and nothing has happened yet.

“No?” Zayn's voice comes, smooth and soft and Liam's shaking his head, because he doesn't want Zayn to stop.

“Yes, please,” Liam murmurs.

“Alright, give me a minute to take my rings off—“

“Keep them on. Please?” Liam asks breathless, that heady feeling swirling in his head and he feels light and weightless and he can hear Zayn's surprised laugh from behind him, can feel it vibrate against his skin when Zayn presses his lithe body against Liam's back.

“You want me to stretch you open with my rings on? Feel them inside you while I get you open for my cock? That what you want, baby?”

“Yes, I want it so bad, please,” Liam says, nodding his head, hoping Zayn can understand how desperate he is for it.

It's slick when Zayn slides his finger in, just one, but it almost feels like it's too much. Liam isn't a stranger to this, but he feels like he's been tied up all night, strung out and anxious and now, it's just the slick feeling of Zayn's fingers inside of him, sliding in so easily; Liam can barely feel the ring on Zayn's index finger, but the knowledge that it's there, inside of him makes the heat drip into a puddle, tangible inside of him, and it pours from his mouth in the form of quiet moans, a sigh of Zayn's name.

Zayn has got a dirty mouth.

Liam knows this, has heard the things the man says when looking at Liam, touching him; fucking Liam open with his fingers isn't any different.

Two fingers slick inside of Liam and Liam can barely hear anything over the pounding of his blood in his ears, the beat of his heart relentless as Zayn reaches for the front of his body, palms over his cock, and God, it feels so good it honestly brings tears to Liam's eyes.

“Can you tell me how it feels, baby? How does it feel to have Daddy's fingers fucking you open?”

Liam cries out a moan, can't form coherent enough thoughts to even create a sentence that would satisfy Zayn, but he tries anyways, lets his garbled English tumble from his mouth in fractured phrases.

“Good—unh, fuck so….” Liam has to inhale air into his lungs, has to keep himself from buckling down and just taking it; he pushes his hips back into the push of Zayn's hand, like he's asking for more.

“Yeah, baby, want more?” Zayn says, and his voice is rough, coarse over Liam's skin, echoing in his ears underneath the sound of his own whining.

“Daddy, please,” Liam begs, and Zayn complies and Liam really feels it, the cold of Zayn's rings made warm by the heat of his ass, clicking together when Zayn's fingers stretch him open. Zayn gets deep enough that the tips of his fingers run over a place that pours raw pleasure right into Liam’s bloodstream, has his thighs shaking and his back arching; his voice is tired and raw and he just wants to come.

“Please, please, I need you to fuck me,” Liam whispers, leaning his forehead down against the gorgeously carved wood of the headboard, sweat soaking into his forearm.

“Yeah? You think you can take me, babe? Hmm?”

Liam nods, because he can, because he was made for this, to be opened up and stretched loose and filled with a thick cock that would fuck him into this thoughtlessness Liam's only ever heard about. He wants to feel it, wants to know what it's like to be truly and completely wrecked, fucked out of his mind. Quite literally.

“Come on, my good, sweet boy. Hands and knees.”

So close; the precipice is steep and Liam's teetering on the edge. He doesn't know how he can stave it off, how he can be good for Zayn, let his body be used so Zayn can feel good, feel like this, like he's being completely ruined. There are marks all along his body, bruises he’ll admire in the morning, sweet marks made by an eager mouth just along the line of the collar he wears. It's only been a little while, but the collar feels like apart of him.

Liam does as Zayn asks, leans forward so he's propped up solely by the palms of his hands and his knees already hurt from rubbing against the sheets.

The air in the room feels too thin and his eyes flutter closed so he can concentrate on the feeling of Zayn behind him, strong and lean and taking him apart the farther he sinks inside of Liam.

There's a gentle moment, like an interlude, where it's just the two of their bodies in a groundless space, where they could float away pressed together like this, but Zayn is anchoring him, with one hand pressed possessively against the lowest part of Liam's belly and the other—

The collar around Liam’s neck gives when Zayn tugs on the leash, when he pulls it hard enough that Liam can feel it tighten around his throat and he's gasping for air—

It's thrilling, even though it shouldn't be, even though this is dangerous and he barely knows Zayn, barely knows the lengths he's willing to go for good sex, how far he can push Liam just so he can come but Liam's eyes slip closed and Zayn's cock fucks so slowly into him, stretching him open so there's the familiar burn, a heat that sits at the base of his spine and tugs in his belly and pools in his balls.

“Oh, oh my god,” Liam whines and all he wants to do is lay on his back, keep his thighs spread open so he can watch Zayn take him apart, but like this, with the lights on in the bedroom and Zayn's body moving behind him, there's something about it, an exhilarating excitement that thrums through Liam's body. He can feel the sharpness of Zayn's hips against his bottom, can feel Zayn so deep inside of him when Zayn makes a move to pull out Liam's already whining for him not to move. Not yet. Liam just wants this one moment, just a split second of time where he relishes the feeling of being so full he can't think about anything else but the cock inside of him and the body it belongs to and how he's at the mercy of a man and the gentle palms of his hands.

“What's your color, Liam?” Zayn asks, voice heavy and thick, almost slurred, like his control is slipping and he can't quite contain how Liam makes him feel.

“Green,” Liam answers, because how could it be any other color when relief is swarming through Liam's veins and finally is reverberating through his bones and all he feels is the sensation of being fucked so thoroughly he could cry.

“Good.”

Liam's never been fucked like this before; there's a certain rhythm to Zayn's hips, a lovely finesse that unravels Liam, spreads the heat through him like nothing else can manage. It's a fast cant of hips, where the wet sound of a cock in his hole is the underlying baseline, underneath the smack of their hips and Zayn's palm smacking against his ass. There's the desperate of sound of Liam's voice, nothing his own ears can recognize when it feels this good, when all he can do is hang his head and feel the collar tug at his neck when Zayn pulls on the leash. It's good, so good when it washes through his body, the slick drag of Zayn's dick, the incessant pain against his cheeks when Zayn lays a heavy palm over and over again.

“Does it feel good, baby? Do you like being on your hands and knees for my cock, Liam? Like being fucked like this?” Zayn's voice is just as wrecked as Liam feels, punctuated by the harsh thrusting of his hips, a quick canting against Liam that has Liam dripping little noises because there isn't anything he can say—

There must be something Zayn wants to hear when Zayn is tugging on the leash, forcing Liam upright by pulling on Liam's hair. The tears build in Liam's eyes, fall in a thick stream down his round cheeks, drip onto his chest. It doesn't hurt, though; it's rough and he feels ruined and wrecked, but God, it feels so good

“Yes, yes, Daddy, please don't stop fucking me,” Liam mutters, as best as he can with the collar tight around his throat and Zayn's hand still holding his head back by his hair, and his cock driving hard and deep inside of Liam, so deep Liam's eyes roll back and he lets out a strangled cry as he tries to gulp down greedy gasps of breaths.

“We can go all night, Liam. I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk, hmm? How does that sound?” Zayn says, and his voice is dark and Liam can think about it, can see it, all the different ways Zayn uses his body, how tired and worn out Liam would be, after, how his thighs would shake if he moved them. Liam thinks about it, and wants it, wants it so bad he can feel his climax sit tight in his belly, creeping closer every time Zayn slams their hips together. But then Zayn pulls out, pushes Liam's body onto the bed and Liam takes the reprieve to catch his breath.

“On your back now, love. Come on, I wanna see your face when you lose it.”

Liam whimpers; he's so close to losing it, he doesn't know what else to do, not when he's never been this desperate to come, to feel Zayn back inside of him again, when Zayn exudes this control Liam doesn't want to be without.

Before Zayn settles between Liam's thighs, Zayn reaches forward to touch his hole; it already hurts a little, but Liam pushes back into it, wants to take Zayn's fingers, for that's all he can have. Liam's eyes open and he leans up on his elbows and looks down between his legs to see it, the way Zayn's fingers press in slowly, rings on his first two fingers, slick with lube and probably precome, and Liam groans, feels it in his spine when Zayn doesn't relent, doesn't do anything but fuck him with his fingers. Zayn's other hand comes up and presses down into Liam's belly, really low, a control of Liam's hips; Liam moves anyways, pushes his hips down against Zayn's hand to get those fingers deeper, over that spot that makes him see stars, that steals his breath but then Zayn just takes his fingers away.

“You're a greedy boy aren't you? Gotta be filled up with something don't you?” Zayn says, crawling over Liam with all the grace and fluidity of someone who's sexually aware of what they want. And Liam looks up, trembling, shaking because all he wants is to come. His cock is still so hard and he can't breathe properly with Zayn hovering over his body like this.

“Want you, Daddy. Want to make you come, make you feel good,” Liam croaks, bringing his hands up to touch his fingertips for Zayn's rib cage, but Zayn takes his hands and lays them up high on the bed over Liam's head.

“No touching, princess. Can you keep your hands up high for me like this?” Zayn wonders aloud, releasing Liam's hands and touching down his body, over hard nipples and Liam's own expanding ribcage, down to circle Liam's navel and draw a single line with just one finger over the length of Liam's cock. Liam tries his hardest to keep his hands where he’s told to keep them, but with nothing to hang onto, its difficult. Zayn's fingers move back up and Liam concentrates on Zayn's face. The expression he makes when he touches the collar around Liam's neck is full of marvel, his eyes alight with fire and ferocity, like the fact that Liam is this willing to wear it, and fall submissive like this, to allow Zayn to do whatever he wants to Liam's body makes Zayn honestly happy.

“You look so pretty with it on, Liam. So beautiful.”

Liam nods, feels that lightheaded feeling shroud his brain when Zayn pushes his cock into Liam, Liam's thighs resting over Zayn's where Zayn's sat up right. Zayn presses a hand to Liam’s face, thumb over Liam’s bottom lip.

“What do we say when we're given compliments, Liam?” Zayn mutters, staring straight down at Liam's face and Liam's breath catches in his throat when he opens his mouth.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Liam murmurs, arching his back when Zayn pulls his cock back and then pushes in, building a rhythm that's fast and hard, with his hands on the edges of Liam's hips, grasping, keeping Liam in place so he can fuck him, fuck into him, fill him up and use him and Liam isn't even conscious of the noises he's making, can't hear it over the sloshing of his blood in his ears.

Liam's making the sweetest little “uh, uh” noises, and Zayn's breathing is thick and loud and from here, on his back like this, Liam watches Zayn pick up the leash, the long leather strap and wind it up in his fist, hips still fluidly moving against Liam's. “Harder, please,” Liam whispers, and Zayn tugs on the leash and Liam arches his back, relishing the relentless, merciless way Zayn fucks into him, with thick, long strokes, deliberately pushing in and fucking against that spot that has Liam crying, wet eyes and raw bitten lips, Zayn's hand still flat against his belly like he can force Liam to stave off the orgasm that is belligerently going to wash over him.

“What do you want, baby?” Zayn murmurs, voice sweet like sugar but his body contradicts that, and Liam can feel it burning through him, like wicked flames scorching his skin wherever Zayn touches him. His voice is teetering in between malicious and teasing; Liam doesn’t really know if he’s going to get what he wants—if he’s going to get to come tonight, with the way Zayn is looking down at him like they have all the time in the world, and Zayn’s going to edge him until Liam just _can’t_ take it anymore. “Answer me, princess. Use your words.”

“I want to come, please, please, I want you to come inside me—I wanna feel it,” Liam says, mouth fumbling over rushes words because he can’t think properly, because his body is too hot and Zayn’s so hard inside of him, delegating this pleasure Liam’s never know before, not by himself or with anyone else he’s ever been in bed with.

Moving his hands, Zayn presses Liam’s thighs back against his chest and Liam’s so far gone he doesn’t get the feeling of being exposed. He _wants_ Zayn to see him like this, legs spread apart and his skin blushing down to his navel, his hole taking Zayn’s cock so easily like he was made for it, to be on his back like this, collared, and fucked. There’s a heat inside his belly, pooling real low and Liam doesn’t think he can hold it off any longer, not when it’s this strong and the desire to feel Zayn fill him up is riding him. Zayn’s body is lithe and neat and put together and Liam wonders how he can still have this much control over himself, how he can contain the raw pleasure of this right here, with them being close like this, doused in sweat and lube and Liam needs something to hold onto if Zayn’s going to break him like this.

The thrust of Zayn’s hips doesn’t slow, and fuck, Liam expects words to trip from Zayn’s mouth, but nothing is said, Zayn just stares down at Liam, with wide eyes so open, when he does come and Liam feels it, hears the wet sound of Zayn fucking his come into him, hands on the backs of Liam’s thighs to hold Liam open like this, and—

To say Liam’s never seen anything more beautiful would be an understatement, when Zayn’s hair is a mess and he throws his head back and all his muscles flex and contract and there’s the sound of Zayn’s voice, the soft gasp of Liam’s name that drips from Zayn’s pretty mouth, the long line of his neck that leads down into his chest and—wow. Liam’s partly mesmerized, but then he’s coming, too, without permission, he realizes, without Zayn coaxing it from him or teasing him or simply telling him he can’t, and all Liam wants to do is be good for Zayn, but he thinks he’s ruined it.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well for me,” Zayn murmurs, hips still moving because he’s still so hard inside of Liam. Liam falls back against the bed, arms still high over his head as he closes his eyes and tears fall again, and he’s never cried this much—has never cried during sex, or even after, but he feels so—

Like his body isn’t even here, like he’s partly gone, and there’s just a haziness, a dazed feeling, like he’s still a freshman in college and has smoked too much weed and he can’t move properly, isn’t coherent enough to understand that Zayn is talking to him, saying words; it doesn’t get through to Liam.

Time passes and it’s odd, lying back in a foreign bed where all he can do is blink up at the ceiling. Something inside of him settles, and there’s a pleasant buzz he feels riding his skin, soft and soothing; it’s all he’s aware of really.

It’s like he starts to come back to himself, slowly, regaining his thoughts and the feeling of his heartbeat and the heaviness of his limbs. He can feel hands on his skin, sweet and gentle, soothing where he’s been bruised and bitten, and he knows it’s Zayn, knows those hands belong to him when he’s touched so endearingly. There are still tears in his eyes and his throat is raw and he hurts but it’s good, the ache of being well fucked, deservedly, like he could wake in the morning and do it all over again.

“Zayn,” Liam whispers, turning his body, like he’s reaching out for Zayn, and Zayn isn’t too far, body warm and solid when his arms come around Liam’s shoulders and Zayn’s mouth is soft against Liam’s. Being pressed against Zayn like this, messy and wrecked, but feeling so soft makes Liam want to close his eyes and savor it, because he doesn’t know when he’s going to get this daydream-y kind of feel, like he’s been fucked out of his mind, his body, like his soul hasn’t quite come back home

“How do you feel, love? Are you okay?” Zayn whispers back, emotion thick in his words, hands soft over Liam’s waist and his back.

Nodding, Liam burrows into Zayn’s chest, closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the solidity of Zayn’s heartbeat, a soft rhythm that seems to keep him grounded, even though he’s still floating, still not quite back all the way to what Liam would deem his normal headspace. But it’s good like this, a mixture of here and not, replaying the moment, the scene, the way Zayn’s body had manipulated him into what he wanted Liam to be for him.

“Good, baby?” Zayn reaches up, rests a hand on Liam’s cheek, slipping a thumb over Liam’s bottom lip, and Liam can’t help but press a small kiss to the pad of Zayn’s thumb, like he’s trying to say yes, but he just can’t form any words right now.

It’s silent for a while, and Liam feels gross covered in sweat come and his face feels tight from crying and his muscles ache and he knows it’s going to be worse in the morning, but he’s too tired to move, doesn’t want to if it means leaving the warmth of Zayn’s body.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you cleaned up okay?” Zayn says, pulling away, and Liam contains himself, doesn’t cry out or reach for Zayn, just nods along, because this is what Zayn wants.

“Can I take this off?” Liam whispers, keeping his eyes down, because the thought removing the collar partly terrifies him, when the dynamic between them built up to this moment, where Zayn looks at him with curious eyes, wide and pensive, teeth biting down on that bottom lip. Sitting on the bed, Liam doesn’t move, but Zayn comes back, sitting next to him, facing him, hands reaching out to touch Liam’s forearms.

“Of course,” Zayn murmurs, a bit like he’s sad, but he isn’t sadistic, won’t force Liam into what he doesn’t want.

Yet, when Zayn reaches around Liam’s neck for the buckle, unclasping the leash and removing the leather from Liam’s neck, it’s almost like a spell is broken, like he’s back fully, like the weight of the collar being taken away clears Liam’s mind.

“Okay?” Zayn asks, and Liam nods, trembling a little bit, because he doesn’t know why he feels like this, here and not, heavy and weightless, like he wants to put it back on again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Liam whispers; his voice is shot, shredded, and a whisper’s decibel is all he can reach. Zayn, with careful, dark eyes on Liam, leans over, kisses Liam gently on the mouth, catching Liam’s lips with his own, lingering for a moment before pulling away. Zayn tips Liam’s head back so Liam’s throat is on display, raw and red, and Liam closes his eyes when he feels the gentle press of Zayn’s mouth against his neck.

“Come on, Liam. Let’s get you cleaned up so we can get you into bed. We’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn says, against the warm flesh of Liam’s throat, and when he pulls away, Liam meets Zayn’s eyes, smiles shyly back at Zayn’s grin, with a blush high on his cheeks. Zayn touches a hand to Liam’s cheek and Liam lets Zayn lead him into the hot steam of the shower, where they wash away everything but the gentle touches they gift each other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! [tumblr.](http://liamthirst.tumblr.com/)


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